Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

She looked up at the corner of the building. The master bedchamber didn’t have a window facing the courtyard; only lesser bedchambers overlooked it. “I wonder if Nicholas is still up there?”

He’d followed her gaze. “Regardless, I believe we should pay him a visit.”

“Hmm…I’ve been thinking.”

Always dangerous . He swallowed the words.

“You’ve told him the outline of your mission. He didn’t want me staying at the Abbey, where I’d be talking to you, even though until then he’d been perfectly happy for me to leave him alone here. So perhaps we ought to prod him a bit.”

“How?”

“If you want to investigate the smugglers along this coast, a set of excellent maps would be particularly helpful, don’t you think?”

“As you know perfectly well, I know this stretch of coast rather better than the back of my hand—I don’t need any maps.”

She smiled. “Nicholas doesn’t know that.”

He considered. “Not a bad idea. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well, obviously, staying with you, we’ve been chatting over the breakfast cups and, keen to help with your mission, I’ve volunteered a set of detailed maps Papa had in his library. We’ve come to fetch them.”

“Excellent.” He meant it; he could see just how to make the scene play out to put, not just the wind but a definitely chilly gale, up Nicholas.

Penny nodded. “Let’s go.” She spun on her heel.

“Wait.” When she turned back, he simply said, “Cobwebs.”

She blinked, then her gaze trailed over him. “Oh—I didn’t notice.”

Stepping nearer, she reached up and plucked cobwebby lace from his shoulder, then, scanning up and down, she circled him. He felt her fingers plucking here and there. He waited patiently until she’d worked her way back to stand before him, close, face-to-face, but not focusing on his eyes.

She picked cobwebby bits from the hair framing his face, then rapidly scanned his features. “There. You’re done.”

“Now for you.”

Her eyes flashed up to his. Widened. “If you find a spider anywhere on me, I’ll never follow you anywhere again.”

He laughed. Plucked a long tendril of soft gray from above her left ear. Briefly met her eyes. “If I find one, I won’t tell you.” He started to circle her, fingers lightly touching, brushing to free the fine wisps from the velvet of her riding habit. “What is it about spiders and females anyway? They’re only tiny insects much smaller than you.”

“They have eight legs.”

An unarguable fact. He debated asking the obvious, but doubted he’d learn anything. Removing the clinging webs from her skirts took time; she stood silent and still while he bent to the task.

Penny concentrated on breathing, on trying to ignore the way heat seemed to flare wherever he touched. It was nonsense; she couldn’t truly feel his fingers through the layers of velvet and linen, just the fleeting pressure, yet…every time his fingertips brushed, she felt it to her bones.

Witless, wanton nonsense. Even if he did still desire her, that was one road she definitely wasn’t following him down. The price would be high, far too high for her to contemplate. Her misguided senses would just have to grow inured. Deadened.

His fingers brushed her shoulder, once, twice. Sensation streaked down her arm, across her chest. Tightened her already tight lungs.

Clearly her senses weren’t deadened yet.

She glanced at him, watched him peel a long trailing web down off her shoulder. And farther, off the velvet covering the side of her breast.

The thought of him touching, brushing there, flashed into her mind. She quivered, felt her flesh react—closed her eyes and prayed he’d put it down to her fear of spiders.

When she lifted her lids again, he’d circled to face her; she could read nothing beyond concentration in his face as he picked fine wisps from lower on her jacket, then crouched, scanning her skirts.

At last, he rose. She exhaled in relief—then sucked in a breath as his gaze fixed on her face.

“Hold still.”

She did, frozen as he raised one hand to the side of her face, fingers lightly tracing as he teased a thread of cobweb from the fine hair at her temple. Then his eyes tracked across her face. With his other hand, he delicately untangled a last fine strand from beside her ear.

His eyes locked with hers. Midnight blue, his gaze was sharp, sure. His hands were still raised; if he moved both an inch inward, he’d be cradling her face.

After a moment, he murmured, “That’s it, for now.”

Lowering his hands, he stepped back.

She breathed in, quickly turning away to conceal how desperate she was for air. “If we go around to the garden door, it’ll look like we’ve just arrived.” She started off as she spoke, embarrassed that after all these years, she still couldn’t control her reaction to him, her wayward senses.

He prowled beside her, blessedly silent.

Her stage setting proved inspired; as they walked into the front hall from the direction of the stables, Nicholas came down the stairs.

She looked up. “Good morning, Nicholas.”

“Penelope.” Gaining the hall, he nodded in greeting, his gaze shifting immediately to Charles.

Who smiled. “Good morning, Arbry.”

“Lostwithiel.”

A pregnant pause.

“I’ve offered Charles the use of Papa’s maps,” she cheerily announced—anything to bring their masculine eyeing contest to an end. “We’ve just come to fetch them. They’re in the library—we won’t disturb you.”

Charles hid a grin at her phrasing; she’d already disturbed Nicholas greatly, no matter he concealed it well.

“Maps?” Nicholas hesitated, then asked, “What sort of maps?”

“Of the area.” Turning, Penny led the way to the library.

As Charles had hoped, Nicholas followed.

Flinging the double doors of the library wide, Penny sailed through. “Papa had a wonderfully detailed set showing every little stream and inlet all along this stretch of coast. Invaluable if one wishes to scout the area thoroughly.”

She made for a bookcase at the end of the long room. “They were somewhere around here, I believe.”

Nicholas watched as she crouched, studying the large folios housed on the bottommost shelf. Hanging back, Charles studied his face; Nicholas was reasonably skilled in hiding his thoughts, but rather less adept at hiding his reactions. His pale features, clean-cut and patrician, remained studiously expressionless, yet his eyes, and his hands, were more revealing.

His fingers plucked restlessly at his watch chain as, a frown in his eyes, he tried to decide what to do.

In the end, he glanced at Charles. “I take it there’s evidence the smugglers in this area were involved in passing secrets?”

Charles smiled one of his predatory smiles. “Finding the evidence is what I’ve been sent here to do, so we can follow it back to the traitor involved.”

Was it his imagination, or did Nicholas’s pale face grow a touch paler?

Looking down, Nicholas frowned. “If there’s no real evidence…well, isn’t it likely you’re simply chasing hares?”

His grin grew intent. “Whitehall expects its minions to be thorough.” He glanced at one of the two six-foot-long display cases flanking the library’s central carpet. “If after I’ve shaken every tree and turned every stone, no substantiating evidence is forthcoming, then doubtless it’ll be concluded that there was no truth in the information received.”

“Here they are.” Penny pulled a thick folio from the shelf; cradling it in her arms, she rose and went to the desk.

Laying the heavy tome down, she opened it. Nicholas went to look; Charles followed.